


Leap of Faith

by orphan_account



Series: Leap of Faith [1]
Category: Supernatural
Genre: F/M
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2015-08-04
Updated: 2015-11-01
Packaged: 2018-04-12 22:03:13
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 2
Words: 4,454
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/4496394
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/orphan_account/pseuds/orphan_account
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Based off supernaturalimagine: Imagine that everyone is born with the name of their name of their soulmate written on their skin, and when supernatural things start happening to you, you finally meet your soulmate, a man named Dean Winchester.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> Warnings: Angst with some fluff. Brief mention of possible verbal child abuse and some swearing.

_The smell of freshly brewed coffee, cooking bacon and eggs fill my room. Tossing over I tug at a piece of comforter that is lodged under my legs. DeWitt trots over to me and plants a slobbery kiss up my arm. Grunting I accept that there is no chance I can go back to sleep. Peeved I glance over to DeWitt only to be met with a goofy grin, a fluffy white tail wagging, and wide puppy eyes. All I can do is grin and shake my head._

 

_“Why d’you have to be so damn cute? I can’t stay mad at that face.” I joking chastise him and rub his favorite spot; right in the middle of his burly chest._

 

_Giving DeWitt one final pat on the head I try to gracefully pull myself out of bed but end up just rolling my sleep ridden body onto the floor. The comforter comes tumbling down with me and pools on top of my back. DeWitt thinks this means I’m getting ready to play with him so he barks right into my ear with his butt wiggle in the air. As the ringing stops I gain some strength and struggle to sit upright. The freezing hardwood floor stings the bottom of my bare thighs shocking my muscles alive._

 

_“Hey muffin, glad to see you’ve risen from the dead. Would you be so kind as to join me for breakfast?”_

 

_“Must I? It’s my birthday! You should be catering to my every whim!” My horrendous fake British accent and my scrunched up face are just as ridiculous as my statement. Dad can’t hold back a bemused chuckle at my antics._

 

_“Smart ass. Come down if you want but if you don’t the surprise is all mine!” He makes sure to wag his finger at me just like he used to whenever I got in trouble as a kid._

 

_With an agile twist Dad disappears as quickly as he came. Curious about what this surprise could be I rise from the floor and tug my shorts down into a more comfortable position. I slide my hand down the stair railing that is adjacent to my bedroom and meet the bright afternoon sunlight pouring into the kitchen downstairs. When I squeeze my eyes shut to banish the offensive light away a dingy, dusty, and rundown  warehouse flashes before me. Startled my eyes snap open to see that I’m still inside my living room. Everything is exactly the way they’ve always been. Only now Dad is staring at me with his forehead furrowed in concern._

 

_“Sweetie, are you alright? Do you need to go back to bed because this can wait until you are-”_

 

_“I’m fine. Just got a little dizzy is all.”_

 

_Completely unconvinced Dad drops the subject but continues to keep an eye on me. Pushing that warehouse out of my mind I sit at our tiny breakfast table in the corner our equally small kitchen. Everything is set and looks delicious but flashes of that filthy warehouse won’t stop. The sudden roar of an engine in the distance makes me jump enough for my cup of coffee to spill into my bacon and eggs._

 

_“Geez (Y/N)! What’s gotten into ya today?”_

 

_“You didn’t hear that car?”_

 

_“(Y/N), we are in the middle of nowhere. The closest neighbor is two miles away. There was no car.”_

 

_“Sorry, I’m just really not feeling myself today. Here let me clean up.” I start grabbing for my plate and tumbled cup when Dad’s rough hand squeeze my right wrist._

 

_“No, I think its’ time for you to go upstairs and lay down. You’re not doing anything until I can get someone to come down and check you out.” Before I can tell him that it really isn’t that big a deal Dad gives me his signature ‘shut-up-and-do-what-I-told-you-to’ look._

 

_Clearly defeated I leave the table and head upstairs but the car engine noises only seem to be getting closer. How can he not hear that? Already exhausted again I head towards my ensuite bathroom and reach for my toothbrush and toothpaste. Putting a glob of paste on my brush I try to silence the howling coming from this “ghost car” I notice that it had already stopped._

 

_After I spit the foam into the sink and raise my head I don’t see myself in the mirror anymore. A man with five-o'clock-shadow and enchanting emerald eyes is staring back at me. Stunned I can do nothing but stand there as he reaches for my face.  As soon as this mystery man’s calloused fingers brush against cheek all I can do is scream. Alarmed by my sudden shriek I hear my Dad’s work boots pound up the stairs combined with DeWitt’s paws stomping alongside him._

 

_The man gruff, almost as if out of breath, voice fills the silent bathroom “Come on (Y/N)! You gotta wake up! I know that place is nice and all but it's’ not real!” His face looks like he is shouting but the words come out as a whisper. Almost as if he wasn’t speaking at all and just moving his lips._

 

_This man’s words ram into me like a speeding car and I jerk away from his grasp. Bewildered I look for comfort in the eyes of my family but I can’t find it. Both Dad and DeWitt’s concern oozes off the both of them. As if to settle the trembling that is wreaking havoc on my hands and legs DeWitt comes forward to place light licks to the side of my knees. The longer I look at either of them the more foreign they seem. The man’s words continue to echoing in my head demanding that I pay attention._

 

_As I walk towards Dad he slowly inches backwards clutching at the bat that I keep next to my bed. Hurt I stop and I can feel the tears I didn’t realize I was suppressing start to fill my eyes. Again the mystery man from before materializes but is now standing next to my dad. The man goes completely unnoticed by anyone else and he tries coming closer to me. Still on edge I step further into my bathroom until the back of my calves hit the porcelain tub._

 

_“(Y/N), I don’t have much time so I need you to listen closely. My brother and I are trying to find and kill the monster that trapped you here. This monster it makes your deepest desire reality until it can drain the life out of you. We need you-” His voice is now considerably louder but it is still fuzzy. Almost as if we have a bad connection._

 

_“Wait, how do you know my name?! And what do you mean this isn’t real?”_

 

_“Muffin, who are you talking to?” Dad really can’t see or hear this nut case?_

 

_Alarmed by my Dad voice I whip my focus back on him. Even though he spoke at a normal volume it echos of the walls of my room. It feels like he’s shouting at me again. Dad always used to shout and toss things when he got angry. Even if it wasn’t my fault the blame was always on me. Flashes of my reality remind me that what the mystery man said is true. My “dad” isn’t really here. He never came back for me. The one person who was supposed to care for me and make sure that I survived never came to pick me up from Nana’s house. The “father” in front of me is nothing but the person I desperately wished for every birthday and Christmas. A caring father who never raises his voice, makes me breakfast, and someone who’ll chase away the monsters instead of being the monster._

 

_"I’m talking to myself, ‘Dad’. I’ve always been talking to myself because you left me.” My voice cracks and my heart clenches as reality hits me. I start pitching snowglobes, books, and my desk chair at the man I’d thought was my dad. “I don’t need you! Leave! It’s what you're good at!” As every object hits various parts of my room the edges of everything start to fray like the ends of torn fabric._

 

_I crumple to the ground unable to stop the stream of tears anymore. My body shakes uncontrollably and the bedroom that I once thought was home dissolves around me._

 

I open my eyes for the first time in who-knows-how-long to the disgusting warehouse that had flashed before my eyes at breakfast. There is a slight tug in the side of my neck as an unfamiliar man with long floppy hair unhooks the IV from my neck. The mysterious man from my fantasy wraps his arms around my waist and holds me as the other man cuts my loss from my bindings. Some of the blood from this blade attaches itself to my skin. As I slump into the man from my dream’s arms I feel some blood drip off of me from both my neck and wrists.

 

The man from my mirror sarcastically remarks “Welcome to the real world, sleeping beauty.” with a smirk. His green eyes gleam with concern briefly revealing just how worried he really is about me. Using the last of my strength I force out a smile and reach out towards the his temple. I lightly rub the pad of my thumb against his temple and into his hair. As my consciousness fades all I can do is breathe out “thank you” before everything disappears.

 

I’m forced awake by the pounding in my head and the rumbling in the pit of my stomach. My eyes battle to adjust to the darkness of my room but soon they adjust. I’m greeted by the familiar pile of dirty clothing, stack of partially read books, and DeWitt’s old bed. A well known pain clenches my chest as I remember the dream world that I’d just been in. I promise that today will be the day I finally get rid of his bed since it only reminds me of how empty my house is now without him. But almost as quickly as the thought crossed my mind I know I could never part with it no matter how painful it is to look at. It’s the last piece of my best friend that I have left.

 

A clattering of dishes from the general direction of my kitchen forcibly yanks me away from my reminiscing. I instinctively go for the metal bat I keep by my bed and tiptoe towards my bedroom door. Cautiously I pry the door open and peek through. Seeing that the coast is clear I venture further until I reach the staircase. Keeping in mind that some of the steps squeak I avoid every single one until my foot slips and lands on the loudest squeaking step of them all. Alerted to my presence two men race out of my kitchen and have their guns aim at my head. Catching on to the fact that the noise was my fault and no one else is around both lower their weapons and my vise grip on my bat loosens momentarily.

 

“Uh, hi. Nice to see you walking around and with some color in your face for a change. I’m Sam and this is Dean; we were the one’s that got you out of that warehouse.” The man who identified himself as Sam tries to give me a comforting grin but it only comes across as awkward and unnatural.

 

“Sammy, can you give us some time to talk? Just the two of us.” Dean motions for Sam to head out the front door.

 

“Um, yeah, sure. I’ll go get so food we’re running a little low.” Sam puts a reassuring hand on Dean’s shoulder before heading to the door.

 

Sam grabs an unknown set of car keys from off my key rack next to my door and sets off. Dean scratches at the nape of his neck as if to ward of the awkward atmosphere that is choking the both of us. He clears his throat and motions for me to sit down on my pullout couch. Still not completely comfortable with what is going on I chose to sit on the very end of the couch with my bat between my legs. Just in case.

 

“I know that you are probably feeling overwhelmed,” without meaning to I scoff but Dean continues without a hint of irritation in his voice, “but I think I should let you know this before Sam and I leave town.” I don’t trust my voice enough yet to not crack or whine so I only nod for Dean to continue. Unaffected by my minimal response he starts talking again, “When I was putting you in your bed…”

 

“Hold on,” Taken aback by the sound of my voice for the first time this morning the words slowly die in Dean’s mouth, “how’d you know my name let alone where I live? I’ve never met either of you. Because I think I’d remember the two of you. Small town like this we don’t get many visitors.”

 

“We were following a lead on a bunch of people about your age all disappearing from the university. The dean let us see the security tapes that showed you being hauled away by a Djinn. After that the dean practically threw all your information our way.”

 

“What the hell is a Djinn?”

 

“I’ll explain that later. First, we really need to talk about the name on your wrist.” Dean points to my right wrist but keeps his hand far away so that he doesn’t touch me.

 

For the first time today I look down at the name that first appeared on my wrist when I was twelve. It is supposedly the name of my “soulmate” but you’d have to be delusion to believe any of that crap, right? Still, I can’t help but rub at the name slightly hopeful. Out of the corner of my eye I see Dean rolling up the sleeve of his maroon colored shirt. He tentatively places his wrist next to mine. My name seems to pop out of his skin at me. (Y/N) (L/N) is written in the same flowing cursive is etched into his arm. Without really meaning to I pull Dean’s arm closer to my side of the couch. I rub at my name on his wrist as if it might come off if I try hard enough. Only it doesn’t disappear or smudge making a mixture of fear and amazement build in my chest.

 

“(Y/N), I can’t promise that I won’t screw up; because I will. I also can’t promise that this will be easy but, if you’re willing, I’d like to give this ‘soulmate’ thing a shot. Maybe it isn’t a giant crock of shit.”

 

Even if his words aren’t the most romantic I can tell Dean is also unsure because he hasn’t dared look me straight in the eyes. Anxious to see if he means what he said I grab Dean’s chin and guide his eyes towards mine. The vulnerable almost childlike innocence in his eyes faintly remind of DeWitt. Amazed at the similarity I gingerly place my hand on his cheek and stroke his weathered skin. Dean accepts my touch and pushes his face further into my hand.

 

“Dean Winchester, I can’t promise that I won’t screw up or that I’ll always be open with you. It is going to take some time for me to open up to you and feel comfortable trusting you. But, if you're willing to be patient with me then why not? What’s the worst that could happen?”

 

Even though every fiber of my being is shouting at me to take it back and realize how stupid I’m being. Fear keeps shouting at me that he is bound to hurt and abandon me but another part of me is pleading that I give him a shot. To take one leapof faith so that I could possibly find some type of happiness. The look of relief and possibly hope in Dean’s eyes sparks something inside of me.  I can feel his name prickling in excitement under my skin sending shock wave to my core.

 

“So, when’re we leaving this shithole?”

 

This could end up being the worst or best decision I’ve ever made. But right now I feel more alive than ever before. Plus, we all have to take a leap of faith sometime, right?

  
  
  



	2. Two for One

“Dean, it’s not funny.” Breathless, Dean tries to talk but ends up being consumed with laughter again, and doubles over, clutching his sides.

 

“It’s kinda funny.” You glare at Dean, completely unamused. His laugh ends up being masked by a cough. “I’m sure Sam and I can find some way to fix this. Or it’ll just wear off eventually.”

 

“And if it doesn’t wear off I’ll just be a grandma for the rest of my life.” You rub your newly wrinkled, veiny hand against your face, feeling yourself fall deeper into self-pity as you feel how creased and lifeless your skin is.

 

“Don’t worry, we’ll get you back to normal.” Dean gives you a reassuring head pat and heads over to Sam so that the search for a cure can continue.

 

Unsure of what to do, feeling achy, and unbelievably exhausted you rest in a spare chair. Idly you rub at the lackluster tattoo of Dean’s name on your wrist. In that moment you feel your heart drop. The once lively, dark, and attention grabbing tattoo has started to fade and crack. It looks exactly how you feel, worn and disappearing.

 

“Guys, I think we might have another problem.” The Winchesters stop their furious searching for a witch or a spell to get you back to normal, and they stop, as if freeze framed, barely breathing. “My soulmate tattoo is fading. What happens if it completely disappears?”

 

Sam is the first to move, and comes to clutch your aged, frail body in his arms. “Y/N, nothing’s going to happen. Let’s go upstairs and you can relax. Everything’s going to fine, I promise.”

 

Reluctant, but seeing the look in Sam’s eyes tells you that he isn’t going to tell you anything more. If you want to know anything more you’ll have to figure it out for yourself. After guiding you to bed Sam goes back downstairs, a throbbing headache forming at the middle of his forehead. He sees Dean slumped in his chair, hands clasped in his lap. Dean looks as if the life has been sucked out of him. He is staring at the tattoo of your name on his arm.

 

“Mine’s still there. Just like every other day. Sammy,” Dean finally raises his head and Sam feels a sharp ache attack his heart. There is nothing in Dean’s eyes. It is like staring into a brick wall. “what’s gonna happen if Y/N’s..what happens if my name disappears from Y/N’s wrist?”

 

“Nothing, Dean. Nothing is going to happen.”

 

“Just tell me the truth.”

 

Taking in a deep breath, resigning himself to the harsh reality, Sam can’t lie to his brother. Keeping this away from him is only going to make matters worse in the long run.

 

“If the tattoo fades, in theory, you’ll no longer be her soulmate. Even if Y/N gets changed back once its’ gone, its’ gone. She’ll still be your soulmate, but you won’t be hers. You guys could end up living happily ever after, but it won’t be the same connection. It’s fucked up, but there is very little known about people that don’t have soulmates and their love lives.”

 

Dean sinks further into his chair, holding his head. Sam walks over and placed a reassuring hand on his brother’s shoulder unsure of what to say or do.

 

“It’s going to be alright Dean.”

 

“We have to work fast, otherwise we’re screwed. Let’s just get back to work.”

 

Everything is leads to a dead end. The only clue they have is that the which is relatively new as few witches want to get on the wrong side of the Winchesters. It is likely that whoever the witch is, they are trying to make a name for themselves. As the boys search to track down the constantly changing whereabouts of the with your tattoo continues to fade until it starts to look like old pen etchings. Dean’s, on the other hand, remains resolute to stay written on his wrist. None of you have a restful sleep, each dealing with a whirlwind of worries. Rest comes in unwelcome bouts for Sam and Dean as the time ticks down to turn you back. Just about to lose faith Sam comes across an obscure website made for upcoming witches to meet, and the witch who hexed you seems to be meeting elders of a scouting coven. He sneaks his way into your room and gathers a few of your most precious belongings in case they need them to reverse the spell. As Sam turns around to leave he takes a moment to watch you sleep. You have been slung into this life so violently and have yet to look back. That resilience amazes him. Once again, here you are, frightened to death but only letting it really show while you sleep. You’re curved into yourself like a ball, arms cradling your pillow like it’s a life preserver, your face is scrunched up as a recurring nightmare of the Djinn trapping you again plays in your dreams. Sam sees you shift in your sleep and silently escapes your room. Dean and Sam head off into the night, rushing to reach this novice witch before it's’ too late. As Dean drives the Impala down the desolate roads towards most likely culprit Sam idly rubs the flesh on his right hip.   

 

You wake up and revel in the fact that nothing hurts for the first time since you were turned into an old woman. All the pain in your joints, the pounding headache, the involuntary shaking, everything is gone. You race down the stairs, astonished at having your real body back, and dying to show the boys. Like a child that just saw the ice cream truck you shout as you search for Sam and Dean. They call to you from the kitchen.

 

“Look who’s back!” You throw your arms around Dean’s neck. But before you can enjoy the hug Dean pulls away and immediately checks your wrist.

 

Everyone stares at your blank space where Dean’s name once was. If you look long enough you feel like you can still see it, but it is purely your imagination. You watch as Dean’s face falls apart. Without a word Dean walks off, steam almost shooting out of his ears. You and Sam share a worried glance.

 

“Do you think he’ll be okay?”

 

“Don’t worry, Y/N, I’ll talk to him.” Sam goes off after Dean leaving you alone.

 

Unsure of what to do you go back up to your room to try to occupy your time by reading up on as many mythological creatures as you can. It doesn’t take long for you to realise that studying is going nowhere fast. You’ve spent the last ten minutes reading the same paragraph over and over. Frustrated you laced up your oldest pair of running shoes and hit the trails around the bunker. The wind whips in your face, biting at your skin. There is a dull burning in your thighs that runs all the way down to your calfs. Your worries about Dean and what losing your tattoo means keeps sneaking its’ way into your the forefront of your mind, so you run faster. And faster until, finally, you’ve outrun them. You know they’ll come back eventually, but that’s something to consider later. For now you have some peace and quiet. Wanting to relish this feeling you head back to the bunker, into your room, and fill the bathtub.  

 

Surrounded by the soothing warmth of the hot bath you feel the aching in your body after the run wash away alongside the dirt. In the process of getting out of the bath you notice some odd staining on your right hip. You try to rub it away with a hand towel near your sink, but it doesn’t budge. Over the next three hours you watch the stain grow and grow. Before long you see what it has started to take on its’ final shape. Where your hip used to be free of any markings is now Sam’s name. Alarmed you get dressed and take off down the stairs toward the garage. Sam and Dean are cleaning Baby, apparently in the middle of a deep conversation.

 

“Uh, Sam, can I talk to you for a sec?” Tentative to not ruin a possibly heavy conversation.

 

“Sure.” Sam drops the sponge that he was holding back into the sud filled bucket beside the Impala. “What’s wrong?”

 

“Is it possible for a soulmate tattoo to appear after eighteen?” You hide your hands behind your back so that Sam doesn’t see you nervously clenching your hands.

 

“Well, I guess it’s possible, but I’ve never heard of anyone that’s had that happen.” Sam takes one look at your face and can tell that something is off. “Y/N, what’s going on?” Sam pulls your arms from behind your back and holds your hands.

 

“Sam, am I your soulmate?” You see Sam’s eyes widened slightly, and his hands get clammy. Taking that as a yes you continue your line of questions. “Is it on your right hip?”

 

“How do you know that?” Sam lets go of your hands and quickly looks back at Dean who’s feverously washing the Impala.

 

You take a look at Dean and instantly feel awful. He’s no longer your soulmate and has been, somehow, replaced by Sam. Dean’s name that used to bring so much comfort at nights that you questioned why you’re alive, he brought some inspiration. A stranger to canvass the world for. Someone that is just right for you. You can’t help but wonder if your name used to give Dean comfort too.

 

Now Sam’s name is etched into your skin and you don’t know how to feel about it. You barely know either of them, and now...you’ve had both of their names on your body without any explanation as to why. You notice that while your wrist may be bare your left hip no longer is. Over the hem of your shorts you see the same beginnings of a tattoo appearing on your hip. Dean’s name seems to have found a new home.

 

“What the fuck?”


End file.
